Drowning in Air
by ALC Punk
Summary: Kara Thrace and Sam Anders don't have it as easy as everyone thinks. For one thing, she's chockfull of way too many memories she doesn't want.


Disclaimer: not mine.  
Fandom: new Battlestar Galactica Spoilers: Bits of season three, this is pre-Unfinished Business, I think.  
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders Rating: R, sex, language, vague violence Genre: Angst, drama Length: 2,200+ Notes: Wrote most of this at work, although this is NOT the fic I wrote at work, this one took a... different turn. Title is inspired by Sneaker Pimps' "Velvet Divorce"

Drowning in Air by ALC Punk!

"Bright shiny futures are over-rated, Sam." Kara was pretty sure they'd had this conversation before. Not that it mattered. She'd already found her underwear.

"So, what, we had ours and now we don't deserve a second chance?" Sam's voice was derisive. He was angry at Kara, and at himself. He knew better than to come back to her. To jump when she called and let her lay him bare with her words and body. But some part of him had hoped, that this time he might get through to her. Frak, he was an idiot. She didn't want more. And maybe she never had.

Her lips flattened into an uncompromising line as she yanked her pants up. He knew that look. Don't push.

Never push.

That's what he'd learned over and over. And he's sick of it. "Kara. You deserve a second chance--WE deserve a second chance. Hell, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think that."

"You're deluding yourself," she fired back, "I've used up all of my chances."

"That's not true." He wanted to stand, to grab her and force her to see how stupid she was being. To loom over her and use his height against her. And the thought made him a little sick. Leoben had probably done things like that, more than once. And he could only guess at them, because she wouldn't frakking talk about it. "You can't believe that--frak, why do you think I'm here, Kara?"

"Sex." Her shirt on, she grabbed her boots and moved towards the door. Tossing a cold smile over her shoulder, she added, "You're such a little slut, Sammy. I always know you'll never say no."

With that parting shot, she was gone, verbally reducing their relationship to nothing. No special connection, no real emotion, nothing but sex and the ability to make each other orgasm. And she could get it from anyone, she didn't need him, he was just convenient.

Sam wondered bleakly if maybe she wasn't right.

This would have to be the last time, he told himself. The next time she called, he'd say no. Say he was busy, make up a dozen excuses not to go. Or better yet, not even take the call.

Yeah. He'd try it. Try saying no to the woman he loved, the woman who was basically all he had in this frakked-up life.

He was pretty sure he'd fail at it.

--

A week later, Kara barely recalled their conversation. She thought nothing of hopping on the radio to call Sam over for some sex. The fact that he dutifully trotted over just made it better. Tossing her gloves towards her rack, she cleared the room of pilot, then waited for him.

"Kara?"

She didn't give him a chance to talk further, pouncing him just inside the door and kissing him hungrily. It had been a very boring CAP, and she had way too much energy to work off. Apparently, so did he.

As Kara dropped her boots outside the door, he worked on unzipping her the rest of the way, hands fitting themselves to her breasts before she'd even gotten the door closed. "Gods." Kara let out a moan as he pressed her up against the metal of the hatch, mouth dropping to the back of her neck and biting down.

She shoved back, and they walked towards her rack, kissing and groping, and trying to remove clothing. Once at her rack, they separated and stripped. It was all well and good to strip each other, but that took too long, and Kara wanted him --now--. He'd barely gotten his briefs off before she shoved him into the rack and climbed in after him, straddling him inelegantly.

They kissed again, his hands on her hips to hold her still before they skimmed up her sides to her breasts.

Kara made a noise of displeasure when he wriggled down so that his mouth could suck on one of her nipples. It was nice, but she wanted something far different, "Sam--"

His hands caught hers, holding her arms over their heads as he continued teasing her nipples.

Shifting, angling her elbow, Kara tried to break free of his hold. But his grip, while not hurting her, was firm. She growled and arched, trying a different angle. Which did take her breasts away from his mouth. That, attracted his attention.

"Kara?"

She tugged at her wrists. "Free. Now." She snapped. Now, before she remembered Leoben, and her bed in the apartment, smelling of paint and clean sheets and Leoben. He'd never slept with her, never forced her. But the threat had been there, and she'd spilled his blood across the pale blue sheets once.

It actually took Sam --time to consider--. Kara seriously thought about punching him once his hands had released her wrists.

"Hey." His hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face, and he sat up, pulling her mouth to his. The kiss was awkward and strangely gentle. When he dropped back down, his eyes were still dark with desire, but there was also something sad in them, too. "I didn't think, Kara."

"Do you ever?" She demanded. Her skin felt like it was trying to climb off her bones and she wanted to claw something. Closing her eyes, she remembered warning Sam that she was violent. So very violent. He lay beneath her, completely unprotected, and she knew she could do lasting damage before he'd be able to stop her. And perhaps it was that thought which held her hands to either side of his head as she kept herself propped up.

"I do, sometimes." His fingers stroked her cheek.

Shaking a little from the extremes of emotion that had been running through her, Kara moved downwards, flattening herself against Sam's chest. "You do, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Could'a fooled me." She licked his skin, then peered up his body at his face. She could feel his erection poking her stomach, so he was definitely still interested. It amused her that even her rapid mood-swings couldn't stop a man in his tracks.

She could try ice water.

But that would be a waste.

"You stopped," Kara told him, poking his chin.

"I stopped?"

"You stopped," she repeated, feeling his hands drift to her waist. She followed their coaxing and moved upwards, straddling him. Pushing up, she hunched her back so her head didn't hit the rack above. "No cookie for you."

"Good thing--" he broke off to groan as she swiftly took him into herself, dropping down deftly. His hands tightened on her waist.

"Oh?"

"No cookies."

"Ah."

Kara moved, and they stopped talking.

When they were close, the natural rhythm beginning to shift and stutter as each tried to reach their pinnacle, Kara grabbed his hands, linking their fingers and pinning them down on either side of his head. He gave her a startled look, but didn't object, too caught up in the moment.

Two thrusts, one twist of her hips and a grinding motion against him and Kara was gone, over and flipping under like a viper in a bad tailspin.

Sam followed her when her mouth found his.

Usually when it was over, Kara climbed out and started dressing. For some reason, she decided that it was Sam's turn to leave first. So instead of getting off of him and hunting up her underwear, she shifted to the interior side of the rack and propped herself on one elbow.

Sam, contrary to her mental decision for what he should do, turned on his side, and looped his arm over her waist before half-burying his head in her pillow.

Glaring a little, Kara poked him. When he didn't move, she poked him again, harder. "Sam."

"Hrm?" He lifted his head and kissed her shoulder rather sneakily, except for the part where he paused to kiss her mouth, too. Not that Kara objected, because post-coital Sam had very soft and sweet kisses.

Not that she wanted soft and sweet. Annoyed at him more, she shoved at his chest. "Y'know?"

Apparently finally getting the hint, he climbed out of her rack with a sigh. But instead of putting his clothes on, he went to the hatch, grabbed her boots and came back.

"Sam."

He dropped them, toed their pile of clothing into a slightly more compact pile and then climbed back in with her, his arm again going over her waist. "What?"

"Are you being dense?"

One of his feet nudged hers and then his leg slid between hers. Of course, Kara could have stopped that, but... it was a position that she remembered well. They used to end up like this on New Caprica. Sometimes, with Kara's back to his front, or the other way around. But always on their sides and close enough to have legs and hands tangled. It had been the fault of their bed, Kara had always maintained. She'd ignored the fact that the bed had been large enough for them to sleep comfortably apart.

Her rack was actually smaller than their bed on New Caprica.

Kara shivered. "Sam."

"Mmm?" He sounded practically asleep.

Kara nudged him. "Sam. This isn't how it works, remember? I call you, you frak me, one of us leaves."

"So, I'm changing the rules," he mumbled, sounding grumpy.

"You're not allowed to change the rules."

"Why not?"

"I said so."

A laugh escaped him, and his hand flattened against her back. "You do, huh. Gonna kick me out onto the floor, then?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." Kara tensed. He obviously wanted her to push, or be the one to leave. As if it made it better for when he constantly came back. She brought up her leg, intending to get the correct leverage to push him out and onto the floor.

"Don't."

Kara jerked her head up to meet his eyes, glaring, and stopped. There was unfathomable in his eyes before they shifted to half-anger, half-sadness, then he patted her cheek and climbed out of the rack.

Good. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stayed right where she was, watching as he dressed quickly and mechanically. Him going was good. She was Starbuck, and she didn't frakking need him. "I don't know, Sam, should I be paying you now? Is there a going rate?" She wanted to take the words back almost immediately, sensing they were one step too far. But she couldn't--if she got in her dig before he started on their marriage, she could head him off at the pass.

A cold smile crossed his lips as he pulled on his socks, and Kara recognized the same devil-may-care look in his eyes that he'd had on Caprica, holding rifles on her and Helo. "I don't know, what's the going rate? Should I be sending others your way? I'm under the impression that variety is better than consistency."

"I don't need to pay for my fraks," she snapped, tone hot.

"But you just offered to." He stepped into his boots, tied them and turned to go.

Curling even further around herself, Kara watched him, not saying anything else. She'd been successful at keeping him from talking about them, but she wasn't sure she was happy with the result. He was always pushing, dammit, and this time he wasn't. And it felt wrong. But Kara Thrace didn't push, didn't beg, and she certainly didn't lick her lips and say softly, "Sam. Leoben..."

His hand on the hatch, Sam didn't turn, though she knew he'd heard her.

"He must have been in my apartment. On Caprica, or something. The walls, floor, ceiling... It wasn't real. It wasn't, but I felt like it was, after a while."

"Kara." Sam turned, as if she hadn't just offered him something of herself. As if he didn't understand how hard those words had been. The distance between her rack and the hatch suddenly felt wider than --Galactica--.

She swallowed. "Just--forget I said anything."

"No." He was still looking at her, "But you should remember something. I'm not Leoben. I've never seen your apartment, Kara. I've only seen you, and the paintings you create with your hands."

The smell of wet paint had chased her for days, in the beginning. Leoben had claimed that he'd brought her the paint to use. But Kara had only painted the walls blue, trying to pretend the things she was covering up hadn't meant anything to her.

But she couldn't tell Sam that. She couldn't explain Leoben and the twisted prophecies of her destiny and her mother and the way she sometimes thought Sam was all she had. Or that she should have married Lee, because at least he was as frakked-up as she was and deserved this kind of pain. Kara wasn't sure she could tell him anything.

Except she'd liked to let Sam watch her paint in their tent on New Caprica. And sometimes, they'd fall into bed after she'd done something on canvas or board or paper, laughing, and have the meaningful kind of sex she'd claimed she never wanted. All slow movements and soft gasps, and gentle looks full of emotions she didn't believe in anymore. And the scent of paint mixed with the smells of their sweat and arousal, sometimes sticking to their skins for days afterwards.

She could still smell it after Sam quietly closed the hatch behind himself.

-f- 


End file.
